


Stronger

by lupinlupout



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canon-Typical Violence, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Sad Peter Parker, Spoilers, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, spiderson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-17 10:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18963265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupinlupout/pseuds/lupinlupout
Summary: He wasn't supposed to find out about Steve going back in time to return the stones to where they came from. Maybe because they knew he would want to help, and were fond of the phrase "too dangerous" when it came to teenage superheroes. Peter insisted otherwise, because if anything, the mission offered closure. Tony won the fight and returning the stones ensured that the fight was won for good. Peter had to be the one to do it, or at least take part. Besides, if Steve got caught up in trouble, back-up would be handy to have. Reluctantly the Avengers agreed on those terms. Aunt May was not informed.Five seconds was all a call would have taken. But Peter knew she would have said no.//or, the battle was finally won when Peter went back in time. Now it's starting all over again, but he has the chance to change some things.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! This is my first fic on AO3 and my first Marvel fic so please give it some love! <3
> 
> I just have a lot of Irondad and Spiderson feels that I need to get out after Endgame literally ended me. I'm not accepting it as canon so have this fix-it instead :D

Five years.

He'd been gone for five years.

It was a fact he had been given zero time to fully acknowledge, to process when Dr Strange so casually mentioned it before they jumped into battle once more. Peter's memory felt fragmented and fuzzy, as though he hadn't used it in years. (Now, looking back, he supposed he hadn't.) He knew they had fought Thanos on Titan. They had lost. Mr Stark had been stabbed and then the Time Stone was gone and not long afterwards, so was he. Filling in the gaps of lost memory, his mind reckoned he had passed out for a short while, waking up later with a headache but no other injuries to note. It made enough sense that it was the truth he went with as they returned to Earth to continue the fight. Five seconds wasn't enough to process five years.

In the armour-clad arms of the man he would never admit meant as much to him as he did, everything hit him all at once. Five years — more than passed out — how glad he was to see the relief in those tired brown eyes and melt into the hug that yesterday would have been too much. Five more seconds and he processed five years all too quickly.

Another five seconds in that embrace wouldn't have been enough. Another five years wouldn't have been enough. Because it felt like a mere five seconds later he was collapsed on a battleground won over by the man dying at his side, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane as Tony Stark exhaled his final breath. Pepper was the first to cry. Five seconds later, Peter followed.

The funeral was small. It was private, a world away from the nosing public, shared by family and close friends and everything Tony would have wanted. Peter didn't cry then, not even when they sent the first arc reactor off down the lake. _Proof that Tony Stark has a heart_ , crowned by a simple yet elegant wreath of flowers. He felt his chest physically ache with grief as he stood at the edge of the water in a crowd of black, though felt too drained to cry. He would later, when Morgan Stark would tell him that Spiderman was her favourite superhero; that the best bedtime stories her Daddy ever told her were about him.

Five seconds in the Stark household was enough to process the five years that Tony had lived without him. It was the life he had always contemplated retiring to; humble and tucked away from paparazzi and fame. The house was simple and homely, but still so Tony in the way that the coffee table could project holograms or that there were still (though considerably less numerous) suits in the basement. His family was his everything, but Peter would cry again when Pepper showed him the picture Tony kept of the two of them next to a photograph of his father, and when Happy told him that he was the reason Tony as good as invented time travel.

Five years, and he hadn't been forgotten. And now it would be a forever, but Peter would never let himself forget about Mr Stark. He nodded and smiled when Pepper suggested he come over for dinner every other week, and any evening spent in the Stark home was spent keeping Morgan busy, a chore he didn't mind a bit. She was so much like her father that it hurt to watch her sometimes, but she was her own person in her own ways and all too happy to have a big brother to play with. It felt like five years before the cavity in his chest began to fill again, but his grasp on time lately hadn't proven to be top notch.

He wasn't supposed to find out about Steve going back in time to return the stones to where they came from. Maybe because they knew he would want to help, and were fond of the phrase "too dangerous" when it came to teenage superheroes. Peter insisted otherwise, because if anything, the mission offered closure. Tony won the fight and returning the stones ensured that the fight was won for good. Peter had to be the one to do it, or at least take part. Besides, if Steve got caught up in trouble, back-up would be handy to have. Reluctantly the Avengers agreed on those terms. Aunt May was not informed.

Five seconds was all a call would have taken. But Peter knew she would have said no.

"Are you ready?"

He still felt a flutter in his stomach every time Steve Rogers spoke to him. Captain America had long been an idol of his, even if his idealistic version of the hero wouldn't have fought Tony over something as stupid as the Accords. Nevertheless, it was still tempting to pinch himself to ensure it wasn't a dream whenever the blond lay his piercing gaze upon the younger teen, and even now, heart thumping in anticipation of what they were about to do, he was still a little stunned to be addressed by the man.

"As I'll ever be," Peter replied with a firm nod, glancing to Bruce — Hulk? in questioning. That was still going to take a while to get used to.

The large green man gave the teen a thumbs up in response, encouraging smile fading to a more serious expression as he ran through the plan one last time. Peter wrung out his wrists with a sort of nervous energy, wary of both Bucky and Sam watching him carefully for signs of hesitance. As anxious as he felt regarding the mission, and as uncomfortable as the bulky time travel suit was, there was no way he was backing out now.

Bruce-Hulk pressed in a sequence of buttons then, nodding to the pair atop the machine quite seriously. "Alright boys, helmets on. We're going in ten... nine..."

Peter's eyes met Steve's for a fraction of a second before the man flipped on his helmet, but the reassurance in his gaze was clear. The New York teen drew in a sharp breath before flipping on his own helmet, the sudden stuffiness making him wish he could have just worn his Spidey suit instead. His fingers fluttered in suspense, adrenaline dialling up his senses enough to make him nervous.

"Four... three..."

"Peter, the case," Steve pointed out, nodding to the carrier of the stones that was settled beside the boy's feet.

"Oh, right!" Peter hastily reached for the handle, shaky fingers clasping around it in the nick of time.

"One..." The last syllable went unheard by the pair as they were suddenly sent hurtling down through space and time itself. It was almost as odd a feeling as fading from existence, Peter noted almost casually as he felt himself shrinking too fast to comprehend.

"Stick with me!" he heard Steve's call from just ahead of him, and raised his head to see the other's body turning to stay on course. First stop, Earth in the year 2012 to return the time and mind stones. It was odd to acknowledge. He would have been ten years old. Tony would have been alive.

His Spidey senses began to tingle. And then all of a sudden they hit him like a train, head pounding so hard he could barely see. "Mr — Mr Rogers!" he cried out, the warning too late for what was coming. There was a blast so powerful he was thrown far enough that Steve was out of sight completely, and he was left tumbling and flying through endless colours, stunned and curling up in pain. The suit was digging into him where the blast had broken its armour and probably a rib or two, and already a patch above his hip felt slick and warm as red blossomed over his clothes. Through watery eyes, he saw the open case where it had been knocked out of his grip, the stones spinning freely in the air, and his wounds were no longer a priority.

"Shit shit shit—" he cursed, sudden and intense panic spurring him forward despite the aching in his body, willing himself to get within arm's reach of the most powerful little rocks in the entire universe. He couldn't just lose them all like this, not after everything, not after Tony—

And then he was within reach of them, and with both hands and a strangled, triumphant cry he grabbed onto as many as he could. In the split second they made contact with his palms, he recalled a few things that would have been handy to note prior to grasping at them in a rush. That wielding just one infinity stone with no proper protection could kill a man. That if he survived, he could go mad with power and commit mass genocide (hello, Thanos! Though he was a Mad Titan to start with, really).

Both pain and power rocketed up his limbs with such blinding force that he lost all thought and input for a moment, white light and noise blocking his senses out completely and forcing him into a moment of brief silence. It was all too similar to being dusted, though was over far quicker than it felt. By the time he could breathe and see straight again, throat hoarse and head pounding ferociously, a second blast hit him square in the stomach and he doubled over in agony, and was out like a light.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of support I've received already is actually astounding, you guys, it makes me so happy <33 Thank you all so much! Hope you enjoy this chapter :)

_"Peter..."_

Holy shit, he hurt. He hurt a lot. All over. It felt as though every nerve in his body had been lit on fire and even breathing caused his chest to ache. His eyelids felt as though they had been glued closed, and he didn't have the strength to try to open them. His senses were dulled and groggy, as though he'd been shoved between the world's biggest mattresses, except without having eaten in days because the lack of energy he was feeling actually caught him off guard.

"Peter!"

The call was a lot sharper this time, and instinctually he clapped his hands over his ears. The voice felt as though it had pierced through his skull, which hurt more than he liked to deal with. He let out a low moan of pain, noting how dry and hoarse his throat felt. What happened? Why did he feel so... broken?

"Kid, wake up, Jesus Christ—"

His heart stopped as soon as recognition set in. He froze, muscles tensed and body stiff as a board, refusing to open his eyes. The silence that stretched between each word the man spoke seemed to last an eternity, and all he heard in the meantime was the suddenly fast and heavy beating of his heart as adrenaline flooded his veins.

"What the fuck happened to you — please wake up, Pete — FRIDAY, I told you to call for a med team, where are they?!"

Peter felt himself tearing up before he could help it and wished he had the energy to kick himself for it. God, when had he gotten so weak? He'd been coping so well; he could bring up Tony's name in conversation without sobbing; he had been telling Morgan stories about Iron Man, which only seemed fair after all the Spiderman bedtime stories; he'd felt himself smiling more, not moving on or forgetting about the man, but living and laughing and being sixteen again. Sure, it was never the same, it never would be, but he'd felt good. Better than he had in a while. He'd been growing accustomed to the fact that Mr Stark was dead and he had all the regrets in the world but crying forever wouldn't change that.

But that was Mr Stark's voice right above him, loud and clear. And worried. Peter's eyes blinked open only to open the floodgates as he met the man's troubled gaze. Watching relief flood his expression just as it had when he helped him up off the ground on a battlefield just a few months ago was enough to make him lose all control. All the tension in his body left in a rush, leaving him feeling as limp and weak as his ability to hold back his tears was.

"Kid? Christ, are you—"

"Mis'r Stark—" was all he could manage to get out between sobs, shoulders heaving as he lay out on the ground, so sore, so exhausted. God, he missed him so much; this wasn't fair, why was life toying with him like this?

Tony was white in the face as he stared down at the distraught teenager, hands frozen and lightly shaking and relieved expression falling faster with every second. He wasn't equipped for dealing with crying teenage superheroes; hell, he wasn't equipped for crying period. He was bad at dealing with emotions, and at a complete loss as to what to do. Stop the bleeding? Give him a hug?

The sudden pounding of footsteps vibrated through Peter's skull as the much-anticipated med team arrived on their hallway, immediately getting to work with professional calm. There were too many people crouched at his side to count; the more he tried to focus the more doubled his vision became and even the gentle prods and touches felt electric in all the bad ways. There was too much sound; too many voices; Mr Stark was answering questions with underlying panic on his wavering tone and trained doctors were making concerning observations; something about his suit, something about blood loss; too many noises that were sharp yet blurring together, an unrelenting static pushing in on him — it hurt, please stop...

And then it did, and he gave in to a warm, comfortable and quiet darkness that wrapped around him like a blanket. Sometimes five seconds is far too much.

He woke up again, later, though he woke up relaxed this time. His body felt a little numb and stiff, but comfortable and unrestricted by the bounds of a broken suit. Even his headache had finally shown mercy and retreated, and when he opened his eyes, the dimmed white lighting of a hospital room didn't hurt to adjust to. The room felt quiet, though wasn't silent; the sounds of a heart monitor beeping and fluid dripping and distant voices were soft and calming. He drew in a long breath, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. His memory was the only thing still foggy; he vaguely recalled standing atop a time machine beside the one and only Steve Rogers, anxiety pooling in his stomach but determination surging. It must have been a lifetime ago. After that, he had woken up for the first time — into a dream, surely, because Tony was there, and Tony was...

"Hey, kiddo."

His heart dropped into his stomach. No, no, _no_ ; this wasn't fair, this wasn't allowed...

Tony Stark stood up out of the chair in the corner of the room and walked over, step by slow step, the echo of his heeled shoes on the floor clear as day. Peter let his eyes open weakly, hardly daring to look; but there he was, facial hair trim and eyes tired, the lingering scent of motor oil and coffee just strong enough for him to detect over the sharper smells of disinfectant and stainless steel. The teen let his gaze dart away to the wall, hoping it would slow his heartbeat to a regular rate. Not fair. Not fair. _Not fair_.

"Sorry I, uh, gave you a bit of a fright earlier," the man muttered, apologetic tone genuine however gruff. "That was my bad. But Jesus, Pete, you're going to give me heart failure one of these days."

Peter shifted uncomfortably on the bed. He couldn't bring himself to look at Tony. He couldn't go through it all again, hoping so dearly that he was alive only to collapse knowing he couldn't be ever again. He felt his toes curling and fingers knitting together as the gears in his mind turned at lightning speed, trying to figure out how to deal with this situation until he woke up.

"Sorry," he mumbled, hoping his voice didn't sound as shaky as it felt.

Tony gestured to the edge of the hospital bed with a hand, and Peter nodded warily, scooting himself over so the man could sit down. The mattress creaked under the added weight, and Peter felt a concerned gaze land on the side of his face before Tony looked up to the ceiling with a sigh. The incoming question was inevitable, and Peter had to stifle a sigh of his own as it was asked.

"What happened?" The underlying worry in the man's voice gave a strong tug at Peter's heartstrings, and the boy winced slightly. It didn't go unnoticed. "I mean — we don't have to talk about it right now, if you're not ready, but we're all pretty confused, Pete."

He didn't know how to reply. He was just as disorientated as anyone, in truth, and still crossing his fingers that he'd snap out of this any second now. But a part of him was making peace with this reality already; the details weren't at all dreamlike, and every one of his senses was working as they usually would. He could feel the rough sheets beneath his body, the worn cotton pajamas he had been changed into, the pressure the bandage wrap was putting on his side. But he wasn't ready to make peace with this yet — he was still making peace with the fact that his mentor was gone.

"Peter?" Tony pressed, gently but with the slightest bit more urgency. His gaze had returned to the boy, studying his features with slightly furrowed eyebrows, thoughts racing behind tired brown eyes.

"I don't know." The words slipped through the boy's cracked lips almost accidentally. He bit his tongue, head finally turning to acknowledge the older man. "I don't know," he repeated, slower, more whispered. Maybe he did know, if he pushed himself hard enough, sorted through the memories of the past, what, hour? But he wasn't exactly feeling motivated to attempt that. A gut feeling insisted that he didn't want to know.

Tony's lips had pressed into a firm line and his eyes carried sympathy as he stared at Peter, troubled. A brief uncomfortable silence passed, and Peter felt his hands fidgeting of their own accord until the door to the room was pushed open and Helen Cho stepped inside. Tony stood up off of the bed in an instant, the mattress springing back up to reclaim the space with a rusty squeak. Peter felt slightly awestruck; he had seen the renowned geneticist a few times on television and knew of her work, especially her part in creating Vision. He had never imagined being in the same room as her. When she spoke his name, he felt his eyes widen slightly.

"Peter Parker?"

"Wow," he breathed, and would have been giddy under literally any other circumstances. "You're Helen Cho."

"Yes," the woman replied, a small smile gracing her features as she made her way over to him. Tony lingered closer to the door, and as he met Peter's gaze he offered the kid a weak smile. In another sudden moment of shock and dismay, Peter couldn't return it.

"How do you feel?" Helen asked him, a palm gently reaching to feel his forehead before it retracted and she sidestepped to a computer, typing at an impressive speed.

"Pretty good," the teen responded warily, round eyes following the woman's movements. Pretty good physically. Pretty good compared to how he had felt the last time he woke up.

"Any pain anywhere?"

"Nope."

Helen offered the teen a small smile as she finished typing, turning on the balls of her feet to acknowledge him fully with her hands clasped together. "Your accelerated healing has been doing the majority of the work in treating your wounds, but I'd like to keep you here so I can monitor them over time, okay?"

Peter bit the inside of his cheek. He felt uneasy lying in a hospital bed in a world he didn't belong in. Everything felt so _wrong_. He needed to get out, definitely not stay put. "Okay," he agreed nevertheless. He wasn't going to confess everything either. They'd lock him up he would sound so insane.

"Now that you're awake, I'd like to check you for a concussion as well," the doctor continued, and Peter nodded. "Can you tell me what day it is?"

It had been a bank holiday weekend when he'd been visiting Pepper and Morgan that Saturday for dinner; Professor Hulk had been up for the weekend too, and it was he who had let slip about the mission taking place. The mission... with Steve Rogers on a time machine. His head hurt. "Um... Monday?"

Helen's typing stopped abruptly and Tony's face paled considerably. The two adults exchanged glances and Helen returned to Peter's side, newfound worry beneath her impeccably calm expression. Her eyebrows twitched as though they wanted to furrow. "Do you know the month?"

Peter swallowed, though it didn't aid his dry throat or nerves. "September?"

Helen glanced back at Tony, now with concern clear as day on her face and Peter didn't want to know what his mentor's expression looked like. "Don't move," Helen instructed shortly, returning her gaze to the teen lying down in front of her, and then moved to the computer again, rapidly typing and speaking aloud as she did. "I'm going to check your eyes real quick, Peter, if that's okay."

Peter barely had time to nod before she was at his side again, a small torch in her hand. She shone it briefly into both of his eyes, and he tried his best not to blink, though the light was harsh and he found himself blinking back tears when she pulled back and resumed typing. "Okay, now follow my finger with your eyes." She was back again, this time with her hand extended and forefinger pointing upwards. She wagged it back and forth, and then moved it a few times in circular motions and other regular shapes before straightening up.

"Am I good?" the teen asked, meek, the glance he shot Tony only resulting in an ache in his chest when he saw the worry lining his face.

"Can you count down from ten to one for me?" Helen pressed, and Peter did so smoothly, though anxiety was pooling in his stomach. "You're good," she answered with a nod, and turned to Tony to confirm the statement with him. "He's not concussed. A word?"

The pair left the room abruptly, and the door was shut tight in their wake, returning Peter to the quiet of beeping heart monitors and crinkling hospital bed sheets when he moved. It wasn't so comfortable anymore.

God, what had happened to him? Even though he had an intense urge to avoid recalling the past several hours of his life, he ignored it, suddenly desperate to be back with May and Pepper and Morgan, where he belonged, as painful a reality as it could be. He felt his head beginning to ache from the pressure of thinking too hard, but then images and memories were flooding back to him. Time travelling with Steve; returning the stones — the _stones_ , oh shit — something had happened in the Quantum Realm. A blast — shit shit _shit_ — he had lost Steve, lost the stones — woken up and Tony was _alive_ , and — and was this the Compound? Still intact? Fuck, this was not good, this was the literal worst thing that could have happened on this mission.

"FRIDAY?" he tried, reluctantly, almost praying it wouldn't work, that maybe this was all a dream and this wasn't the Compound and Tony was still dead and he hadn't fucked up so badly. His heart stopped as he waited in silence.

_"Yes, Mr Parker?"_

The teen cursed under his breath, quickly attempting to ward off the oncoming wave of panic with a few deep breaths.

 _"Is everything alright, Mr Parker?"_ FRIDAY asked, and even in her robotic Irish lilt there was a note of worry.

"Yeah—" Peter went to reply, though felt as though he was being strangled. His hand gripped the bar at the side of the bed as he grit his teeth, attempting to ground himself on the cold metal bedframe. "What — um — what date is it?"

A pause. _"It is the twenty-ninth of March, 2018."_

He felt his heart pounding hard in his ribcage and suddenly his lungs felt restricted. The feeling alone reminded him of the suit he had arrived in, and with a short-breathed gasp he sat bolt upright, hands trembling as he gripped the bedframe so hard it bent. "The suit, FRIDAY, where's the — the suit I had on—"

 _"Mr Stark had your suit delivered to his personal lab for examination."_ The AI paused for a beat, and Peter got the impression that if she were a person she would be regarding him with the same concerned expression he had been on the receiving end of all day. _"It appeared to be severely damaged, Mr Parker."_

" _Fuck_ ," Peter hissed, blinking rapidly as he desperately fought back the sudden urge to cry. Man, he had messed things up so badly. Mistakes like that caused the universe to collapse in on itself. And where was Steve? Where were the stones? The bar he was gripping suddenly snapped in his hand, the metal twisted and bent, and his heart skipped a beat. This was too much; his head was pounding for the fifth time in the past day and everything in the room was blurring together. He could hear FRIDAY vaguely, but even in the quiet of the room the sound of dripping fluid was suddenly amplified and the beeping was accelerating and harsh on his ears. He wanted to scream but couldn't so much as whisper; he had ruined _everything_ and now he was stuck back in time with the man who hurt the most to acknowledge anymore. His chest felt as though there was a weight crushing it and the burden of his mistake had put a clamp on his airpipe.

"Fuck — FRIDAY — I can't breathe," he gasped, panic surging through him in intense and unrelenting waves. He was sure his heart jumped into his throat when the bang of the door opening a tad too fast startled him, and fearful, watering eyes met Tony's terrified ones as the man warily entered the room. The white of his surroundings seemed to spin around him, sounds growing distant and quiet, the last thing to meet his ears a frantic call of _"Pete!"_ before he was enveloped by a deep, swirling blue and felt himself lift from the bed and the room.

Mere seconds later, the blue discontinued its swirling around him, slowly vanishing until it was gone altogether, and the distressed teen found himself sitting on the edge of his own bed in his apartment in Queens. He was still dressed in the rough cotton pajamas, cut tubes hanging out of his arms and fluid leaking. A shaky hand ran over his clammy forehead and through his hair. Things were not right here; things were not right at all.

"Shit."

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments make my day! Thank you all for your support <3


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